


Say My Name

by BananaChef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: :dancing kermit gif:, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Bathing/Washing, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Bottom Jaime Lannister, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, High Valyrian (ASoIaF), JB Week 2020, Love Confessions, Masturbation, Post-War, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, Swordfighting, Title from a Destiny's Child Song, Top Brienne of Tarth, Valyria, Valyrian Steel Swords, War, and then they live happily ever after and have 14 kids, brienne as she’s sitting astride him: yield, i could use 16253 pov tags but basically it just switches between J & B as needed, jaime: fuck, just use those ~vibes~, mental image of jb is probably ell’s eros & psyche au??, with a side of soulmates and multiple lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/pseuds/BananaChef
Summary: The Vhagarene and Balerinese—two Valyrian peoples—have had bad blood between them for millennia, and one day, it comes to a head:“Vhagar.”I am Brienne, the Maid of Tarth.“Balerion.”Jaime. My name is Jaime.“Our peoples scream for blood.” He spun his Valyrian steel sword, Widow’s Wail, in his hand, watching with a smirk as sunlight played on its edge. Balerion turned his green-eyed gaze on Brienne, golden hair flowing in perfect ringlets to rest on his shoulders. “I intend to give it to them.”“I will not let you bring your chaos andaeodhaintogaea haelig,” she told him, standing tall in her deep blue Valyrian steel armor, Oathkeeper in hand. “I have protected this land and its people for millennia, and you are theditael, come to destroy our peace.”“How observant of you,ahel,” the golden god laughed. “I hope your steadfast nature does not lead to the Vhagarene’s demise. It would be such a shame; I was quite looking forward to breaking you, but if I must kill you first...” He got into a basic fighting stance, his gaze hardening to steel. “Vaen áestra mae, ahel.Let us see if the swordswench is able to stand her ground.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	1. Pride / Humility

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to read up on this universe, check out [this](https://bananachef.tumblr.com/post/630502960656498688/say-my-name-a-compendium) Tumblr post!
> 
> For a variety of reasons, a lot of the chapters are going to be late, but I’ll try to get them up as soon as possible! 💗

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pride:** the quality of having an excessively high opinion of oneself or one’s importance. _“Apparently she does not realize that I will crush her as I do all my adversaries, goddess or no.”_
> 
>  **Humility:** a modest or low view of one’s own importance; humbleness. _She hoped that she had the strength and skill to beat the_ ditael. _If not..._

“They call for war, my lady,” Podrick reported from the foot of the dais. “Even the eldest and the wisest among the _saefia_ agree: they will not rest until the _ditael_ and his ilk are thrust from _gaea haelig_.” The boy had only five hundred years on him, yet he was as studious as a child could be.

 _I cannot deny my people their desires._ Though the thought of war saddened her, Brienne could not deny her people revenge for all the havoc the _ditael_ had wreaked on the lands around and in _gaea haelig._ _It is my duty to defend the Vhagarene. I cannot abandon these peaceful folk when they need me most._ “Then we must prepare for war. Send word to the _balaes._ We will have need of their sword arms soon enough, if the tales of the _ditael_ are true.”

“I-if the tales are true...” Podrick started, and Brienne nodded at him to continue, “...does this mean he will storm the capital and put our people to the sword? If the tales are t-true...he will storm the gates and kill the _saefia._ ”

Brienne firmed her lips before responding with determination: “I will not let that happen. I will fight him myself.” _I have not used Oathkeeper on a foe in centuries, but perhaps now is the time to wield it again._ She hoped that she had the strength and skill to beat the _ditael._ If not... “You are free to go, Podrick.”

The boy nodded and left the throne room, his shadow barely darkening the floor in the face of the sunlight that streamed in through the large windows on the walls adjacent to the throne. The hall was beautiful, and more than Brienne had ever asked for. It wasn’t ostentatious as _some_ deities’ halls were wont to be, but it had its own minimalistic splendor. The throne was made of marble, with cushions on the seat, back, and arms. The wall behind the throne was taken up by a stained glass window; it depicted a tree with a star flying overhead on a hill, the sun rising behind it, and the full moon above it. Behind the hill were blue waters dotted with boats, and above that was the sky, slowly getting darker the closer to the moon it was.

Brienne stood up from the throne, silky white dress flowing towards the floor. She had found long ago that—in this form, the form from some past life of hers—longer dresses that concealed the shape of her body looked best on her. As a goddess, she could take any form she desired, and yet this form, ugly though it may be, was comforting. It also served to teach people that good deeds can come from anyone, and that beauty is not superficial.

“Sansa, Margaery!” Brienne called out, and with a wave of her hand, she was in her chambers. Her two friends arrived a moment later.

Sansa and Margaery, both with long hair styled in perfectly flattering ways that matched their perfectly flattering faces, were _ahel_ : angels. Brienne herself was not one; oh no, she had the gift and curse of being a goddess of _gaea haelig_ —the Holy Land—wrought after the land cast out Balerion many millennia ago.

“Brienne! It must have been fifty years since I saw you last!” stated Margaery in her usual chirpy tone. Most times her unfailing optimism never failed to cheer Brienne up, but not now.

“Oh goodness, something is wrong...” Sansa said, her brows furrowing at the look on Brienne’s visage. “Tell us what happened.”

Both _ahel_ sat Brienne down on her bed, each holding one of her hands in a flattering display of female camaraderie. “Balerion is coming to attack _gaea haelig._ I need your help to prepare.”

“Your plan is to fight him?!” Sansa exclaimed, her grip on Brienne’s hand tightening. “You _are_ the best swordswoman I know of, but Balerion does not play fair, you know this. He uses black arts, people say. Let the _balaes_ fight his forces and take the rest of the Vhagarene someplace safe.”

Brienne firmed her lips and stood up, turning to her friends determinedly. “I cannot run from him. He will take that as a show of cowardice, and I am _not_ a coward.”

“Knowing when to run is not cowardice, Brienne.” Margaery’s visage was full of concern, which may have been the last thing Brienne needed.

“I cannot leave without trying. If I _can_ defeat him in single combat I could end this war before it has started. I will never know if I do not try.” She looked between both angels, waiting for their responses. Sansa and Margaery were her closest friends, and she could always count on them to advise her sagely, as their mothers and grandmothers did before them. Catelyn and Olenna had each served admirably as her confidants over the years, and now they spent their days in the gardens, relaxing after their chosen servitude.

“I shall ready your armor, then,” Margaery said, standing up from the bed, face drawn in determination.

“And I shall ready your mount,” Sansa chimed in, going to stand next to Margaery.

“I shall have Podrick send Balerion a raven, asking him to meet me outside _gaea haelig._ Wish me luck. I have no doubt that this will be a difficult duel.”

* * *

Jaime lounged on a lavish blood-red fainting couch, popping grapes into his mouth with lazy hand movements. Inside his tent, there was peace. Outside? Well, that was an entirely different matter.

Outside was the smoking ruin of a town on the outskirts of _gaea haelig_. The people had been conscripted into Jaime’s service, and one of them was likely the one that had prepared his grapes. He preferred to have fresh blood do these sorts of tasks; it was always entertaining to turn into a horrible monster with stony skin, red eyes, fangs, grotesque horns, and leathery wings simply to scare them. Jaime had learned long ago that fear begat obedience, and obedience begat strength.

“Your Excellency, a raven for you.” _Peck._ He was a casualty in one of the first cities Jaime overtook, and the first to be taken into his service as a _ditael._ He was silent when need be and never went out of line. Peck was also a decent fighter from what Jaime had seen. He was fond of the boy, who had only nine-hundred years on him.

 _Have some of the new blood attempted to revolt again?_ Jaime sighed. No matter how many places he overtook or how many people he terrified, there were always some who rose up against him. “Enter.”

Peck did as he was told, handing Jaime a scroll. It was sealed with a drop of wax, unblemished. He opened it, his lips slowly curving into a cat-like smirk as he read the carefully written words. When he finished, he threw his head back and laughed.

“Vhagar has challenged me to a duel!” He laughed once more, popping a grape into his mouth. “Apparently she does not realize that I will crush her as I do all my adversaries, goddess or no.” He swallowed and suddenly became very serious; his _ditael_ did nothing but quietly stand by. “Peck, have my armor and mount readied. I intend to see how long it shall take to end her.”

A few minutes later he was adjusting his crimson-and-gold Valyrian steel armor, his pegasus Warrior—a black stallion with bright green eyes—whinnying and stomping the ground. “I know; I would rather be resting as well. Do not worry. We shall not be long gone.” Assuring that Widow’s Wail—his Valyrian steel blade streaked with dark red veins (“The blood of my foes,” he lied)—was secure in its scabbard, Jaime climbed on Warrior’s back and commanded him to fly.

* * *

“Shh...” Brienne whispered, brushing her fingers through Honor’s hair. _She must be able to sense my fear._ The mare whinnied again and bumped her face against Brienne’s, wings flapping disconcertingly. “I shall be fine, you will see.” She knew she was saying it as much for herself as for Honor.

Brienne turned around at the sound of pegasi wings, and watched as Balerion landed merely four meters away. The sunlight shone on his perfectly golden hair as he smirked self-righteously at her before propelling himself off the back of his pegasus with almost cat-like grace.

Balerion made a striking appearance in his red-and-gold armor that glinted in the sunlight. He took a few leisurely steps towards Brienne and carelessly unsheathed his sword. The veins of red in the steel shone angrily, matching the ones in Oathkeeper, which she chose to unsheath too. It was no secret that the swords the god and goddess wielded were twins; they had both been forged from the ground in _gaea haelig_ millennia ago, same as the both of them.

“Vhagar.” _I am Brienne, the Maid of Tarth._

“Balerion.” _Jaime. My name is Jaime._

“Our peoples scream for blood.” He spun his Valyrian steel sword, Widow’s Wail, in his hand, watching with a smirk as sunlight played on its edge. Balerion turned his green-eyed gaze on Brienne, golden hair flowing in perfect ringlets to rest on his shoulders. “I intend to give it to them.”

“I will not let you bring your chaos and _aeodha_ into _gaea haelig_ ,” she told him, standing tall in her deep blue Valyrian steel armor, Oathkeeper in hand. “I have protected this land and its people for millennia, and you are the _ditael_ , come to destroy our peace.”

“How observant of you, _ahel_ ,” the golden god laughed. “I hope your steadfast nature does not lead to the Vhagarene’s demise. It would be such a shame; I was quite looking forward to breaking you, but if I must kill you first...” He got into a basic fighting stance, his gaze hardening to steel. “ _Vaen áestra mae, ahel._ Let us see if the swordswench is able to stand her ground.”

He charged at her, Widow’s Wail a mere suggestion in her sight, but very real as she brought Oathkeeper up to block him, pushing back against the force of his blow. _I am strong—stronger than him._ Brienne could see the same realization in his eyes as she pushed him away, but a second later he was attacking her again, nimbly dodging her counterattacks.

“I will not lie,” Balerion started when they both began to tire, many hours later, “I did not expect you to match me insofar.” Brienne grunted, her unwavering attention on the duel. “The wench is better with a sword than I thought possible.”

 _That_ made Brienne angry. Some visceral part of her was _sick_ _and_ _tired_ of men assuming that she was nothing. “My name,” she ground out, using her strength to twist his arm so he couldn’t use Widow’s Wail, “is Vhagar, not _wench_.”

“I think not! You happen to have a certain wenchiness about you.” Balerion had the audacity to laugh in her face, their visages mere centimeters away. He struggled against her and ducked away, brandishing Widow’s Wail. “Come, sweetling, let us continue our dance.” His emerald eyes were aglow with the high of a fight. “The music is still playing, is it not?”

Brienne attacked him. He seemed unable to stop speaking. “What is it that you do in _gaea haelig_? Offer to suck men’s cocks as a reward for their service?” Balerion stumbled a bit at her next blow. “No, your current form is far too displeasing to the eye. Tell me, wench, and tell me true: do you suck men’s cocks as a special form of torture? Getting one’s cock sucked is a delicious form of pleasure—though I myself prefer a warm, wet cunt—but getting sucked off by the likes of _you_ would be enough to put any man out of pleasure. Though I suppose you would not know, lacking a cock as you are.”

Brienne knocked his legs out from under him then, prepared to force him to yield at swordpoint, but suddenly Balerion swung Widow’s Wail out and she collapsed on top of him. He wasted no time in rolling them over—twin blades forgotten in the heat of the moment—and landing some punches. Brienne did not hesitate to fight back, grappling with him and managing to roll them so she was back on top; she quickly sat her entire weight on his chest, knowing that he could not move like this.

“Yield,” Brienne commanded breathlessly, gazing into his green eyes.

Balerion wheezed out a laugh. “Do you not know that Balerion yields to no one?” His eyes glinted dangerously. “I swear to you, Vhagar: I will not rest until you are dead, and all those who support you shall be tortured mercilessly. You will regret ever challenging me to a duel.”

Suddenly he began to change form, short golden hair sprouting across his face, which was rapidly elongating. Brienne toppled off of his chest and backed away, stopping to reach out her hand and summon Oathkeeper. She pushed herself up from the ground and pointed the Valyrian steel blade at the golden god, who had now transformed himself into a golden lion. He roared ferociously, and somehow Brienne understood that if she did not leave, he would use the same dark magic that was rumored to have truly been at the heart of his exile from _gaea haelig_.

She quickly sheathed Oathkeeper and climbed into Honor’s back, spurring her into the sky. Brienne chanced a look down and saw a golden man sitting on the ground. _He did not walk away unscathed._ The thought was little comfort in the face of the inevitable: Balerion would attack _gaea haelig_ after killing her, which meant that her people would be unguided. _I cannot let that happen. I must find a way to kill him first. A way to kill him._


	2. Envy / Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Envy:** a feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else’s possessions, qualities, or luck. _They looked at her with such reverence... No. He could not let himself want something that was not possible._
> 
>  **Kindness:** the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate. _He found her in the town square, giving blessings to the people that came up to her before sending them on to her palace. “You and your families will be safe in my palace; this, I swear to you. I will not let Balerion hurt you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for childbirth and dying in childbirth, although it’s mostly just mentioned/observed by Jaime & the mom doesn’t die directly in the fic.

Brienne held tight to Honor as they flew back to the palace, her pale blond hair taking on a golden sheen in the setting sunlight. She was reeling from her fight with Balerion, and what the outcome would mean; he would surely be angry and wish to attack swiftly, but Brienne had not left him uninjured. Hopefully, that meant she had enough time to help what Vhagarene were still in _gaea haelig_ hide in her palace. Brienne tried to shift the way she was sitting but grunted in pain; she had not left unscathed either, unfortunately.

The high marble walls of her home came into view amongst the clouds, high above the land of Valyria. Honor landed in a courtyard as Margaery and Sansa came running out, matching looks of worry on their faces. “We were so worried!” the brunette started, the redhead finishing with, “We thought you had died, but you have not— _oh,_ goodness!”

Brienne winced as she slid off of Honor’s back, clinging to her friend’s arms when they reached out to catch her. She could not remember ever being in so much pain; the most she had been in was when she had fought the dragon Venaeo, named so for the way in which the beast had poisoned some of the lands of Valyria with his presence. When the dragon had descended on _gaea haelig_ Brienne had wielded Oathkeeper and beheaded it. _The first time I ever killed._ Yet that fight had not yielded so much pain as she was now in.

“It is true what they say,” Brienne confided as Margaery and Sansa helped her to her rooms. “I am Balerion’s weakness.” She let out a relieved gasp when she was laid out on the bed, and Sansa went to summon her healer. “But so is he mine.”

* * *

Jaime roared in pain as the most talented healer in all his _ditael_ —which did not say much, as very few of his people took up the inherently-kind art of healing—used ointments and methods he did not recognize. _It has been millennia since I was injured, after all. And even then, it was not so bad._ The last time Jaime was injured was when _gaea haelig_ devoured the land of his followers and thrust what little survived out; he had sustained a wound to his sword-hand, although it had healed perfectly. _Having a scar is not “perfect,”_ he thought, suddenly sour.

“Is this an attempt to slay me or are you simply making me suffer needlessly?” Jaime growled, gripping the healer’s hand and looking into the _ditael_ ’s eyes. _They are not afraid of me,_ he realized. Falling unconscious due to pain would lead to that, he supposed.

“Neither, Your Excellence. Healing comes hand in hand with pain, although it should not be long until both are gone. Your injuries were painful, yes, but not fatal. It would seem that your natural imperviousness did not apply to whatever you were fighting.” The healer observed Jaime’s nearly-naked body with stark efficiency before standing up.

“What was your name?” Jaime had a feeling that he would have need of his skills once more, especially since he would inevitably face Vhagar again.

“Qyburn,” the _ditael_ replied, perhaps sadly, before leaving the tent.

The name seemed familiar to Jaime—perhaps a notable name a century or two ago. But someone who was important in their mortal life held no more consequence as a _ditael_ than an unnoticed peasant, unlike Jaime, who would be known for all eternity. _Vhagar will be known as the one who thwarted my plans if I do not bring her down. But how can I when she is able to injure me so?_ There were more bruises and cuts decorating his body than he could ever remember having.

Jaime threw the thin blanket preserving his modesty to the floor and extracted himself from his lavish bed, stalking over to the gilded mirror in the corner despite the pain he was in. He took in the dark blue bruises that were forming on his golden body, trailing his fingers over them as he remembered his and Vhagar’s duel. Although he was forced to weather pain in the aftermath, the fight itself had been thrilling. The goddess had matched him in pace and outdone him in strength; he hated to admit it, but he was in awe of the fact that she had fought against a dragon and won without loss, as well. Her sapphire blue eyes were so expressive that it was almost comical how predictable she was, but it was all too easy to get distracted by their depth.

Unbidden, his hand strayed lower; down his abdomen and to the base of his cock, nestled in the golden hairs there. Jaime groaned, pumping his hand down the shaft once, unsure what was possessing him so. He could not stop himself as the image of the swordswench sitting astride him appeared in his mind; what a sweet sort of torture that was—her big blue eyes glinting dangerously from above him, and the strength he had felt in her thighs as she used them to trap his arms. _She is stronger than me,_ he thought, and then he was _there,_ coming so intensely that he blacked out for a moment or two. When he came to, he stumbled back towards his bed, weary from the exertion.

 _I cannot let her live,_ Jaime thought vaguely, falling onto the mattress and letting his eyes close. _If that is so, why does it feel so incorrect?_

* * *

“My lady, you really should rest,” Jeyne told her, pushing Brienne back onto the bed. The goddess could not deny that the idea was enticing—the soft, white linens; the caress of the pillows and mattress—and her eyes were heavy as well...

“I cannot,” she responded once more, sitting up. Jeyne, a young _ahel_ with a gift for healing, sighed and packed up her equipment. “The Vhagarene need me. Your people need me. I can think and walk; I cannot let my pain be the reason so many die.” Brienne slid her feet off the bed and stood up, wincing at the pain her myriad of minor injuries caused.

“Do not tax yourself to the point of debilitating pain. And I would not recommend fighting Balerion again; he did this to you in one fight, and if he is able to do so once more before you are fully healed...it could mean death. That will not help anyone.” With that last piece of advice, Jeyne left.

 _I cannot stand still, but I cannot fight, either. I need advice. I need to see Catelyn and Olenna._ Though their faithful period of servitude was over, the _ahel_ were always happy to speak with Brienne. She dressed slowly, glad of the loose dresses she preferred to wear, and waved her hand, appearing in the palace’s gardens. The two older women were playing a game of _cyvasse_ together when Brienne found them, Olenna sharing witty jokes as Catelyn responded with laughs and smiling responses.

Brienne smiled at the sight; Catelyn had lost much in her mortal life—Brienne had seen her grow into the woman she was when she died and seen all the atrocities pitted against her family because they had ties to Balerion’s people. But it had been centuries since that conflict, and the Vhagarene had forgotten, as mortals always did.

“It is good to see you two after so long,” Brienne said, sitting on a conjured chair. Both women were happy to see her and expressed that sentiment, leaving her to speak when they were done. “I have need of your advice, my faithful _ahel_.” She looked between Cat and Olenna, who were listening intently. “Balerion is going to attack _gaea haelig_. We dueled, and wounded each other, but you both know as well as I do that this will not stop him. I can give the Vhagarene refuge in my castle but I cannot keep Balerion and his forces out. I would ask for your advice on the matter.”

Catelyn looked somewhat confused. “You _wounded_ each other? I suppose it would make sense, seeing as both of you are entities created by _gaea haelig_...”

Brienne nodded. “We are each other’s weakness. It is poetic, I suppose.”

“Of course it is, but that does not help your situation,” Olenna put in, not sparing her a glance as she moved a _cyvasse_ piece.

“That is true. You must do your duty,” Catelyn agreed. “I suggest waiting him out. If he truly is as prideful as the tales say, he will not be able to resist seeking you out once more for a rematch.”

Brienne sighed, listening to the light breeze rustling the trees around them. “We are evenly matched. He is prideful, but not unintelligent.”

Olenna finally turned toward her, shrewd gaze taking in Brienne’s appearance in a way that always made the goddess feel dissected and put back together again. “Catelyn was right: you need to wait for him to make the first move. Going in blindly is for the foolish.”

Brienne saw the truth in their words and realized what she had to do, though she was not fond of it. _I cannot go to him; that would be folly. I must wait for him to come to me._ Part of her had known that this was the best course of action, but she had desperately wanted a different one; letting someone else make the first move had never been something she allowed, but this once, for the sake of the people that depended on her, she would allow it.

“Thank you for your advice, my _ahel_. You have helped me see clearly. The path forward is the one that will result in the least amount of deaths; I will wait for Balerion to make his move, and respond accordingly.”

“Good,” said Olenna, turning back to the _cyvasse_ board. “It is your turn, Catelyn.”

The redhead huffed good-naturedly, choosing a piece and moving it. “I swear, you always move pieces when my attention is elsewhere.”

“Of course I do, dear. That is how I win.”

* * *

“Rest will do you a world of good,” Qyburn had said when he came back the next day and examined Jaime’s injuries. So, knowing that it was in his best interest to rest and heal quickly, Jaime followed through. He had rested for seven days, much more time than he would have liked, but was now healed for the most part.

And yet... _something_ did not feel correct, as if the world had shifted since his duel with Vhagar. _It is because she is stronger than me and was able to overpower me, that is all._ Absurdly, he felt his cock stir (again) in his clothes and abruptly changed his course of thought. _I must create a plan to defeat Vhagar. I vowed to end her and said that I would not rest until I did so._ He had already broken the latter part of the vow, he supposed. Not that he was one for _keeping_ oaths; he was not known as an oathbreaker for untrue reasons.

But the thought of Vhagar believing him to be a coward was a terrible one—something he could not allow. _I must make the first move in this new game of ours,_ he thought, knowing that she would wait him out due to the belief that he was too prideful to be patient. _She will send her_ balaes _once I send mine, but to take_ gaea haelig _correctly I must know what she is doing._ _I must watch her._

Jaime walked over to his mirror, dressed in fine robes of crimson and gold that brought out the green of his eyes. His hair still fell in golden waves to rest on his shoulders; his body was still finely sculpted, full growth of stubble on his jaw; he still looked like a god.

_Once I rid the world of Vhagar, everything will feel right. It may take time, but I do not lack that._

Jaime waved his hand and his surroundings changed to that of a city on a hill, the streets almost empty. The people that _were_ traveling on its sides were all going in the same direction—towards magnificent marble stairs that led to the clouds. _Vhagar’s palace. She is harboring her people there, as suspected._ Jaime walked along the streets, looking for his adversary, all but invisible to the Vhagarene.

He found her in the town square, giving blessings to the people that came up to her before sending them on to her palace. “You and your families will be safe in my palace; this, I swear to you. I will not let Balerion hurt you.”

Jaime snorted at that but made no move to reveal himself. Someone ran up to Vhagar, breathing heavily, and managed to get some words out before running off, the goddess following them. His curiosity piqued, Jaime followed to an unremarkable house. A guttural scream came from inside as Jaime stepped through the door.

He recognized that noise. _A birth._ Vhagar walked into the house’s bedroom, past the midwife and a healer, to kneel beside the mother. _A birth going wrong,_ Jaime revised as he saw the amount of blood, and walked inside to stand in the corner with the most shadow, waiting to see what Vhagar would do.

“C-can you help us?” the man who had run to bring the goddess stammered out, holding the mother’s hand as she screamed again. “The—the stress of everything sent her into labor early, my lady, and I...I cannot bear it if my wife and child were both to die.”

The blond-haired being assessed the situation with determination, lips firmed into a line. “I cannot save you,” she told the mother, placing the pads of her fingers on the woman’s forehead. She relaxed into the bed almost immediately, sighing in relief. “But I can save your child.”

The mother reached out and gripped Vhagar’s hand. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you.” Jaime found tears in his eyes, brought back to a vague time in another life where his own mother died in childbirth.

Just then, Vhagar looked up at him, a murderous look in her eyes. _This is what you have done,_ their blue depths said. _You have murdered this woman, an unforgivable crime._

Jaime suddenly found himself back in his room and stumbled to his couch. The sense of overwhelming guilt in his chest, constricting him—he could not breathe. _I can._ Jaime took a deep breath, taking a hand through his hair before rubbing his face. _They looked at her with such reverence..._ No. He could not let himself want something that was not possible.

 _What is happening to me? Why does Vhagar make me feel so!?_ Jaime stood up and started pacing, stress and envy rolling off his body in waves. Eventually, tired from the emotional toll of the day, Jaime sat down on his bed. _I may never know the answer. But what I do know is that it is time for war._ Tomorrow, he would command his army to attack the nearest cities and towns.

_Vhagar will not win this war, no matter what feelings she inspires in me._


End file.
